It's All I Can Do
by HappyBunny6678
Summary: This is what happened the night the Kanima struck at the pool. This is why Stiles really held Derek up and this is what hapened when Scott got there two minutes later than a good friend should have. X-Posted! Coda for 2x04: Abomination.
1. Chapter 1

"RUN!" Derek yells at him, pushing him back towards the Olympic-sized swimming pool.

Derek turns his back on the enemy. He turns his back on the enemy for _Stiles._ What an idiot.

"Derek, your neck...," Stiles remarks, stepping forward with just enough time to catch Derek as his considerably muscular form goes limp from the Kanima venom circulating unchecked throughout his veins.

Stiles has always had a theory that werewolves run hotter than their human counterparts because their hearts beat faster. Werewolves are acrobatic in nature and the heart that supplies blood to their human form must also do so to their wolf form, right? Ergo a heart that has to pump twice as fast.

Stiles' heart isn't like that, though. His heart flutters, much like a ballerina whose feet never quite touch the ground. He'd never make a good wolf.

"Come on," Stiles urges, Derek's arm over his neck. They have to keep going. "Where is he? D'you see it?"

"No! Please hurry. Call Scott!" Derek orders as they near the edge of the pool. Stiles drops his phone like the clumsy fool that he is and as he's hauling Derek's immobilized form into the pool, Derek begins to call him a less than flattering moniker beginning with 'son of a' and if water hadn't filled his mouth and nose, Stiles would bet it ended with 'bitch'.

He doesn't know why he decides that the water would make a lovely home for a man who can't even stand on his own two feet, let alone swim. But something tells Stiles that they need to get into the pool (though it could be the Kanima's ever nearing presence, but hey, who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth? In fact, he never quite got that phrase... Huh... Something to look up for later...).

Then Stiles realizes he has to make a decision. Does he grab his phone and call Scott or does he let the man he quite literally owes his life drown? Of course the man (a loose term for the gigantically complicated can of worms that is Derek Hale) comes first so Stiles jumps in headlong and grips what has to be at least two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of solid muscle, pulling Derek's starving lungs to the surface.

There are a few long moments of confusion where both men (who is Stiles kidding, he's a _boy_ playing dress-up) try to desperately catch their breath whilst figuring out where the world's largest Komodo Dragon has gone. The water is cold - the heater gets turned off at night to save money and it's November so the outside temperature doesn't help too much - which makes it more difficult for them to get acclimated.

"Can you get me out of here before I drown?"

"You're worried about _drowning_? Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth?"

"Did you notice that I'm paralyzed from the neck down in _eight feet of water_?!" Derek is angry, which is good news for Stiles. Angry Derek means a normal Derek which means the venom may be wearing off.

Stiles' head is tipping further and further under water with each pass of his sweatsuit-clad legs.

"Okay... Okay I don't think I can do this much longer...," Stiles pants. His lungs aren't just burning - it feels like they refuse to expand. He's lost feeling in his feet and his legs are cramping and Derek is so _heavy_ but if he lets go then Derek drowns and then what would the point be?

The Kanima's watching them - taunting them even - from the side of the pool and it's right in front of Stiles' phone... If only he could just... Then maybe...

"Nonononono! Don't even think about it!" Derek orders, panic lacing his tone. It almost hurts Stiles to hear that kind of fear in Derek Hale's voice. Almost.

"Could you just trust me this once?" Stiles asks him, desperate for the answer because he _needs this. _He needs Derek to trust him because this is all for _Derek_.

"No!" Is the vehement response.

"I'm the one keepin' you alive, okay, have you noticed that?" Now Stiles is frustrated. How could Derek have not noticed? Honestly, it may as well be blasting from every pore in Stiles' body. The smell of determination and desperation and despair and even some attraction (okay a _lot_ of attraction because Derek Hale is one fine cut of man-meat) should be drowning Derek and - oh, right. Pool.

"Yeah... And when the paralysis wears off, who's going to be able to fight that thing, you or me?" And God Derek is just so _fucking _stupid sometimes.

"Cause that's why I've been holdin' ya up for the past two hours?" Stiles literally cannot believe that Derek is that stupid. Honestly. (It's like trying to talk to a philosopher about physics. They want to see the shit that isn't there and you're like, 'bitch please, this is an abso_fucking_lute', Stiles thinks.)

"You don't trust me, I don't trust you. And you need me to survive which is why you're _not letting me go_." Derek thinks he has it all fucking figured out, huh? Because Derek Hale is the master of trust, right?

Stiles has to prove him wrong. He has to show Derek that he is so completely and utterly _wrong_ about everything and the world and just... _ugh. _He's wrong about _Stiles_. So he counts to three and lets go, swimming hard and fast for the edge of the pool where his cellphone rests, nearly halfway between he and the Kanima.

Derek's cry of 'Stiles!' just before he starts drowning again will haunt Stiles forever (like so many other things...).

Stiles gets to the phone and fumbles with tremulous fingers as he dials Scott's number. Scott who promptly hangs up on him because God forbid Stiles should ever need Scott as back-up...

Stiles realizes exactly how long it's been since Derek's taken a breath of air and he drops his phone into the icy depths without a second thought. When he next pulls Derek surface-side, Derek looks surprised - like Stiles wouldn't go back to get him. That hurts him, actually, because it's been two hours already and Stiles presses Derek up against him to change their positions and to make sure that Derek's head stays above water.

Stiles' strength is slipping so fast... Faster than he thought it would once he reached this stage of what he can only assume is hypothermia. Even Derek's lips have a faint bluish tint to them.

"I can't stay up any longer... I need something to hold on to...," Stiles half-pants, half-gasps into Derek's hair. Derek's spewing out more water than Stiles would like and he sees the diving boards down the other end and thinks that maybe - just maybe - he can do it.

He kicks his legs as hard as he can underneath Derek's nearly crushing weight, free arm being used to slosh water out of their path as much as possible. Stiles keeps Derek's head above water _at all times _no matter how much he himself may come to swallow.

When he grips that handhold and slips... All Stiles can think is that he needs to keep Derek alive. Stiles sinks to the bottom and uses all his strength - as well as his remaining air supply - to push and hold Derek up, the wall to his back as extra leverage.

This was always his plan. Stiles threw Derek into the pool knowing that he could never be half the _anything _that Derek is. Derek means something to people while Stiles is just the aggravating kid who talks too much and can't sit still. Stiles gets it - really, he always has - and he accepts it.

So his mission is to keep Derek _alive_ even though he himself is dying.

Derek is strong where Stiles is weak. Derek has made himself a family where Stiles has torn his apart. Derek commands respect and authority while Stiles can't even _threaten_ menacingly. Derek's got cracks and flaws but his real self bleeds through with every ounce of regret and concern he feels and Stiles can see that shitty exterior peeling off better than the original paint job on his Jeep.

Derek was wrong. Stiles does trust him. He trusts him with his life and with his father's life because he knows that Derek doesn't want anymore death and destruction. Derek just wants to be able to live again. Derek turned his back on the enemy for _Stiles_ and if he's willing to save Stiles - someone who lies just to get through the day - then he's willing to save anyone.

Derek was wrong. Stiles doesn't need Derek to survive. Stiles needs _Derek_ to _survive_. Derek has to live because Stiles knows he isn't worth the air he breathes.

'If there were more Derek's in the world and fewer Stiles's,' he thinks as blackness creeps in on his watery vision, 'the world would suck a whole lot less because there would be fewer lies and mistakes and _accidents_.

There would be fewer teenagers with a craving for eating Thumper raw once a month because Stupid _fucking_ Stiles would never have made Scott - poor, asthmatic Scott - come out in the dark. Never would have been the reason his best friend can never have a normal life.

I could live with that'.

Stiles wakes up sometime in the future with strong hands on his chest, trying to help pump the water from his stomach and lungs. It works because suddenly everywhere _burns_ and he knows his ribs are cracked because he's just had CPR performed on him and they always crack when it's done right.

The hands on his chest?

They're Derek's.

And so is the voice calling him names that would make a hooker blush. ('You stupid fucking son of a clogged anal gland!' for example).

Maybe he does get it.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek's muscles are killing him. It's not from a wound and it's not from a fight or anything.

No, Derek's muscles are sore from being suspended in water for two hours while immobile. Derek's muscles are sore from Stiles' little act of stupid heroism. And Derek's body can't magically heal the sore, tight, achy feeling in his muscles because it's not a physical injury.

Stupid fucking Stiles.

By the time Scott got to the pool, Stiles had been completely submerged for nearly four minutes.

The air bubbles had stopped floating to the surface almost two and a half minutes prior.

The venom in Derek's veins was starting to wear off, the adrenaline of having a dying sixteen year-old pinned beneath his heavy and useless form expediting the process. By the time he could move his arms, Scott had already shown up. Derek levered himself up onto the side of the pool, Scott grabbing him and tossing him the rest of the way.

"Scott! Stiles - Get Stiles!" Derek yelled as the Kanima edged ever closer. Scott was well ahead of him, hauling a pale, still, water-logged Stiles out of the pool as if he were a ragdoll.

"He's not breathing!" Scott was terrified for his best friend and pseudo-brother because Stiles couldn't... Couldn't die! Stiles was always the one who was supposed to make it through anything because he always did... The defeaning silence of Stiles' chest cavity took Scott over for a long second, his own heart and lungs desperate to join his blood brother's in their vow of stillness.

Unfortunately, gigantic poisonous lizards wait for no man.

Derek's eyes turned their bloody, Alpha red and his claws made a cracking sound as they sprang forth from his nails.

Stiles had been unconscious (not dead, never dead, not Stiles, nope) for nearly five minutes.

With a tuck and roll that any gymnast would have been proud of, Derek and Scott switched places. Derek hadn't fully regained the use of his limbs so he was definitely not in contention for Kanima duty.

As soon as he hit Stiles' side, Derek ripped the teenager's shirt off. He didn't need to put an ear to his chest or a finger to his wrist to know that he was dead.

Not for long if Derek had anything to say about it.

One, two, three... Derek counted aloud - all the way up to thirty - while he pushed down on Stiles' breastbone. Derek could feel his ribs cracking and separating and he knew that if Stiles lived, he would be in a lot of pain for quite some time. At least he would be alive.

After one count of thirty, Derek tipped Stiles' head back and breathed two large breaths into Stiles with one hand holding Stiles' nose firmly closed.

Derek tried to ignore how much it felt like a kiss - how much he wanted it to be a kiss.

How much it was slowly killing him that Stiles had thrown his life away for Derek of all people.

Derek did another round of chest compressions, hoping for some of his lifeforce to drain down into the pale form beneath his hands. (Praying for them to trade places because Stiles is so so stupid and Derek died being smothered by tendrils made of smoke and ash six years ago...)

When Derek did his second round of rescue breaths, the hand not securing Stiles' nose found its way to Stiles' hair. _Please... Please just wake up... Please... _His fingers combed through the short hair once, then gripped it. They had to prove to him that his physical body was there. That there was still a chance.

His hands made their way back to Stiles' chest for the third round of compressions.

Derek faintly remembers hearing Scott scuffle with the Kanima but he didn't pay him any attention. He just kept pushing and pushing and praying and begging Stiles to live.

"Come on you fucking asswipe, open your eyes!" Derek yelled at him. A litany of unflattering and wholly unwholsome names flew from Derek's mouth as he viciously beat Stiles' chest to get his organs working again.

By some miracle - whether it was praying or begging or the CPR mixed with pure dumb luck - Stiles started coughing. It was a wet and desperate sound but one that had Derek's whole system practically singing with relief.

"Oh holy mother of God," Stiles gasped as he heaved what seemed to be a gallon of water out of his stomach and lungs, "Who the fuck let... An elephant... Tapdance on my chest?!" He sounded outraged but in a way that only Stiles ever could. It made Derek want to hug him and punch him at the same time - something he had seriously considered.

"... Dude. Did you just quote the second Sherlock Holmes movie?" Scott asked him, the Kanima having done an impressive aerial escape minutes before. Scott sounded disgusted, amused, and very confused.

"Scott, shut up," Derek ordered. He ran a tired hand over his eyes. By then all of his limbs were in full working order. But there was a stiffness to them that he knew was going to suck later.

Stiles had started shivering pretty violently so Derek - with Scott's help - lifted him to a standing position. Derek was right - Stiles' ribs did hurt like a bitch.

That's alright. Stiles would have his revenge. Maybe not then... Maybe not the next day... But one day, when Derek least expected it... There would be an elephant in tap shoes.

Scott and Derek managed to get Stiles out to Derek's car without too much trouble. There were a few close calls with people leaving the game and Derek sent Scott to run interference with the rest of the pack.

Derek - meanwhile - drove Stiles home. Like everyone else, Stiles' father was at the lacrosse game, which meant that getting him into the house was no problem. Getting him up the stairs... Wasn't going to happen. So Derek set Stiles down on the couch and ascended the Stilinski home to get Stiles some dry clothes.

Stiles wanted nothing but to go to sleep and forget the day had even happened. He wanted to forget the guy with his Jeep, the lizard with the spunk of death (as Stiles had taken to calling it), and most importantly he wanted to forget the things he saw while he was... Unconscious. (Dead sounds too permanent and clearly it wasn't for him - this time). Especially because those things included his mother and that was not a thing he would want to share with anybody.

But alas, his knight in red-eyed murder had returned with a change of warm, dry, non chlorine-scented clothing.

The tremors had only gotten worse the longer he was stuck in his clothes (of course his bare chest did little for the cause in November weather). And as much as it pained Derek to have to do so, Stiles needed help getting his clothes on and off. The bruises on his chest were a deep, ugly purple and spattered all across his chest with the focal point at his sternum.

It made Derek sick to think that he had done that to Stiles, no matter what the cause. It was a slow process - one that took nearly twenty minutes - but eventually Stiles was in warm clothes again.

The really hard part had been convincing Stiles to go to the hospital. Which - of course - he had refused.

"Sorry Derek but don't you think that the people professionally trained to save lives will be able to tell that something big and heavy was repeatedly shoved into my chest? The fact that they happen to be handprints won't make their Scooby-sleuthing any harder," Stiles argued haltingly. His breathing was labored, he sounded congested, and he was still shivering. But he had the Stilinski Sass back in him, at least, so it could have been worse. Or so Derek thought at the time.

"Well all that hard work will have gone to waste if one of those ribs ends up breaking, now won't it? So I suggest you suck it up and go to the hospital." Derek's tone wasn't nice but it wasn't mean either. It met Stiles' snark with his own brand of heady sarcasm.

"And tell them what exactly, oh almighty wolf-man? That I drowned saving a paralyzed werewolf from Nagini with legs?" Stiles practically snorted at him. And of course he was making Harry Potter jokes too. He just didn't know when to quit. But Derek had to admit that he had a point.

Derek sighed before giving Stiles a reluctant 'fine' followed closely by, "Then you're going to Deaton and he's going to give you the X-Ray."

Stiles groaned but Derek heard no argument from him as they began hobbling out of the house once more. This time, Stiles left a note telling his father that he'd gone out with some friends for an after game thing and that he'd be back later. That way his dad wouldn't worry and Stiles could get away with being out for a few hours. Just in case.

The drive over wasn't pleasant for Stiles either and Derek almost felt bad about that. Almost. It was Stiles' fault for being an idiot anyways - he never should've let himself drown like that. In any case, Derek tried to take the bumps and potholes in the road easy.

Deaton didn't look happy to see them but he didn't look surprised either. Of course he gave Stiles the 'I'm not a people doctor' spiel but he did the X-Ray anyways.

Stiles' ribs had separated from his sternum and a few of them had been cracked - as they had expected. Derek... May have been a bit overzealous in his efforts to save Stiles' life, causing one rib to actually have broken. When Deaton gave him the stink-eye, Derek had the good grace to look mildly cowed at the very least.

"Stiles, I can't give you any pain medication because you're not an animal. You're going to be in a lot of pain but your ribs will heal on their own. The break isn't too bad but I'd be careful. No lacrosse for at least a month. Take naproxen when you get home and I would recommend not going to school for as many days as you can get away with it. Goodnight, boys," Deaton said, dismissing them quite effectively. He would burn the X-Ray film later, in case anyone should wonder why a human ribcage with such obvious damage was on display.

Derek got Stiles back in the car and took him home again. The Sheriff still wasn't home - good news for the both of them - which made getting Stiles back up to his room even easier.

Stiles had insisted that Derek go home - that he take care of his pack and make sure no one was hurt. Derek could tell Stiles was getting tired very quickly because he actually sounded concerned about the other wolves. Normally he would have hidden it with sarcasm or empty threats - sometimes even a plaintative whine for good measure.

So Derek left Stiles tucked up in his bed, no longer shivering but still smelling of pain.

Derek had missed Stiles' first cough.

Stupid, stupid Derek.


	3. Chapter 3

The easiest way for Stiles to get out of school was to go to school and get sent home. His father never fell for Stiles' fake-sick attempts but the minute the school nurse called, he knew it was serious and that Stiles would be going home. (Seriously, Stiles always hated that woman. She smelled like fish and Bengay - not an attractive blend of scents.)

It wasn't too difficult for Stiles to decide to hit the nurse's office the Monday after having all his ribs broken by a man who was arguably the most miserable alive. (Dude NEVER smiles. Ever. It's kinda... Scary.)

It started with a cough the minute he woke up. It wasn't his normal dry, tickle-in-the-back-of-his-throat cough that usually accompanied a Stilinski Family Cold. This was a wet, hacking, disgusting sound that put Stiles in pure agony every time it ripped forth from his chest. Yep. He definitely had some cracked (and one broken) ribs.

Despite how completely and utterly shitty he felt, Stiles dragged himself out of bed and got dressed - though admittedly his clothes were probably past ripe - to head off for school. Walking hurt. Driving hurt. Sitting upright hurt. But he had to go to get sent home.

The coughing that woke him up earlier that morning didn't go away and the longer he was out of bed, the more hazy his head felt. He was absolutely exhausted. With no pain medication for his ribs, the weekend had been a miserable affair with little sleep and even less movement on Stiles' part. (His father assumed Stiles had left for lacrosse training with Scott early Sunday morning largely due to the phone call Scott had placed to his dad.)

The first class on Stiles' list was English with Fairbank. It was one of the only classes he had without any of the pack. Some days he relished that fact - like today - because it meant they couldn't ask him questions first thing in the morning. That didn't include Danny, unfortunately.

"Um... Stilinski... You're wheezing in my ear," Danny said, looking over his shoulder at Stiles.

Danny looked... He looked kind of worried, which was weird. Danny was a good guy, yes, but that didn't mean he really liked Stiles.

Stiles, who happened to be half-asleep at his desk, head rested on the inner corner of his left arm. It took him a long second to realize Danny was even looking at him.

"Huh? Oh... Sorry...," Stiles apologized, sitting up straight (as straight as he could without complete agony) in his seat. Danny was right - there was a wheezing rattle deep in his chest every time Stiles inhaled. The fact that he hadn't been able to take a deep breath in days probably didn't help his situation, either.

"Stilinski," Danny said, somewhere near Stiles' ear, "Class is over." Wow... Stiles had zoned out again... "Um... You don't look so good... You should go home."

Stiles nodded his head slowly and stood up, a little wobbly. His head was foggy with pain and fatigue and he really just wanted to go home and sleep but he needed to go through at least one more class in order to get credit for being in school for the day. With a mumbled thanks to Danny, he tottered out of the classroom with his bag carefully hanging from his shoulder.

"Dude... You really don't look so good..." Scott? Where had Scott come from? And when did he get to his locker? "You smell sick. Are you okay?" Scott was giving him the kind of look he only gave Allison and that was seriously freaking him out. It was his 'you-matter-to-me-please-don't-be-hurt' look.

"Got a cold or someth-" Stiles broke off with a harsh cough that wracked his whole frame. Immediately following that, some inconsiderate asshole bumped and jostled him into his locker. He didn't even register the pain as blood from his own lip flooded his mouth. Yeah, Mondays are so much fun. Scott snarled at something - probably the blonde head bobbing through the crowd away from them. Jackson. Of course.

"Stiles, you need to go to the hospital." Oh God Scott was being concerned and rational. That should have been Stiles' first warning.

"'M fine," Stiles mumbled, leaning his head heavily on his cool locker door. God he felt so hot.

"Dude, you can barely stand up! Your eyes are all glassy and you're, like, all pink and pale and I can hear the crackle in your lungs. It's more than a cold, Stiles, and you need to get it taken care of."

Stiles wasn't really listening to Scott anymore. He just sort of pushed himself off the locker and headed towards his next class - Chemistry with Harris. Oh boy. At that point, Stiles was thinking he probably should have taken at least Danny's advice and gone home because the last person he wanted to deal with was Harris.

Shuffling very slowly (breathing's hard okay?) into the room, Stiles took his place next to Scott at their bench. The second he stepped over the threshold, Harris' eyes were on him like a hawk's to a mouse.

Class began with Harris saying something about water molecules and ionic bonds and hypertonic solutions. Half a minute in and Stiles had his head down on the table, drifting in and out of consciousness. Then someone was shaking his shoulder and Stiles' eyes were rolling up to see whomever it was that had roused him from his cozy nap.

"Mister Stilinski, since you seem to be too tired to pay attention to even the simplest concepts of chemistry, perhaps you can relearn them this evening. In detention." And boom goes the dynamite because of course it would be Harris waking him up. _Don't say anything, Scott. Don't say anything._

"Seriously?! Mister Harris, come on. He's sick and he shouldn't be here anyways." Oooor not. _Good job, Scott._

Mr. Harris just raised an imperious and uncaring eyebrow and turned his attention to Scott. "Then why is he? And because you're so concerned about his well being, you can join him this evening."

The class snickered, the bell rang, and the next thing Stiles knew, he was back in the hall and on his way to his third class. Wait... Next class? No, he needed to go home. All he had to do was make it out to his Jeep and he was home free - pun intended. But walking through a hallway of teenagers all rushing around to get to their next room in three minutes was not conducive to healing bodily structures. Especially when the face of clumsy may as well be Stiles Stilinski.

After his third or fourth run-in with some less than caring (and _clearly_ steroid injecting - holy shit was he huge) classmate of his, Stiles decided to just duck into the men's room in an effort to catch his breath and wait for the halls to clear.

It wasn't noise or people that woke Stiles up. It was the overwhelming - and completely terrifying - feeling of not being able to breathe. He couldn't pull in a single breath no matter how hard he tried. Stiles knew panicking would only make it worse so he tried not to panic - tried to draw in whatever air he could - but it felt like he was drowning all over again and he never wanted to go through that again.

Stiles reached down with his right hand to fumble his phone out of his pocket. From what he could tell, he was lying on the bathroom floor. He must have fallen asleep and then fallen over while waiting. Stiles guessed that it was still third period or else he wouldn't still be there. It figured that the one time Stiles actually needed help, no one needed to use the bathroom.

Losing air fast, Stiles brought the phone up as close to his face as he could. It wasn't close enough to see the touchscreen so he had to dial and pray he got someone on the line who would do something. His fingers stumbled over the screen, pressing in wherever they could. The chances of him dialing a ten-digit number rather than hitting three numbers in succession was much greater so he aimed for the ten.

Someone picked up.

"H... Help..."

Stiles couldn't hear the person on the other end of the line.

Things were starting to get a little hazy around the edges for Stiles.


	4. Chapter 4

John Stilinski had received the call on his personal cellphone in the middle of twenty-hour shift. The animal attacks and mysterious deaths in Beacon Hills were driving the body count ever skyward which meant longer hours and more coffee for the Sheriff of the small town.

He picked up the phone and rubbed a tired hand over his eyes.

"Beacon Hills Pol- Stiles? Son? Is that you?" When all he heard were desperate gasps and painful wheezes, John got frantic. "Stiles, what do you mean help? What's wrong?! Are you at school? I'm coming Stiles. Just hold on, okay? I'm coming! Stay on the line," he'd yelled into the receiver, running at full speed out of the department. His colleagues all looked at him like he'd gone mad but the moment they heard him yell Stiles' name, they knew to shut up and get on with their jobs.

Never get between a Stilinski and his son.

The drive to Beacon Hills High School had taken longer than John would've liked it to. He'd gone through the town with his lights and sirens blazing, daring someone to get in his way. The phone remained firmly pressed to his ear via his shoulder's support, despite the fact that driving while on a cellphone was illegal in California. Not that he could hear anything through it - he wasn't really listening. Just holding onto it and praying that it would keep his son alive.

Needless to say, he was surprised to arrive and see an ambulance parked outside the school, his son being wheeled out towards it with Scott in tow. The phone slipped from his shoulder and onto the floor of his car somewhere - he didn't really care where it went - and he burst out of his cruiser.

"Scott! What happened to Stiles?!"

Poor Scott looked sort of like a baby deer caught in the headlights of a very big truck.

"Sheriff Stilinski! I told him he should've gone home, really! But he wouldn't and I should've driven him home but I couldn't because I'm already on academic probation and if I skipped class then-"

"Scott. What. Happened. To my son." Unless he was drunk, quiet Sherriff was a bad omen. Quiet Sheriff was deadly rage Sheriff and Scott knew it. All of the color drained from his face nearly instantly.

"He... He's sick... I... He couldn't breathe when I found him..."

"Sir, are you his father?" One of the paramedics had poked her head out of the truck to get John's attention. "We need to get him to the hospital. Now."

John nodded and stepped into the back of the ambulance with his son. _His only son and the last piece of Meredith to survive..._

"Scott, get in your car and follow us, okay? Don't worry about school, I'll call them later. He'd want you to be there and you don't look like you can handle anymore school for the day," John had shouted to Scott as the EMTs closed up and got ready to go.

Derek's muscles are killing him.

His muscles are killing him and there's supposed to be a pack meeting tonight but there's no _freaking_ pack! Okay, well, that's not true. There's Erica and Boyd and Jackson's over in the corner playing Angry Birds or something equally as trivial.

But there's no Isaac, no Scott, and no word from Stiles.

Derek has quickly learned that when the three of them are missing there's usually trouble to be found.

So he picks up the piece of shit cellphone he bought from a gas station in Kansas on his way back out to California and dials Scott's number first. No answer. Okay so he's probably wedged himself between Allison and a bed. Fine.

Isaac's number happens to be the next number following Scott's on Derek's speed dial. No answer there either. Okay so he's probably... Off being Isaac. Derek gets the kid but he doesn't completely understand him. That would take more psychology degrees than Derek has money to get.

Stiles' number is, in all actuality, before Scott's in Derek's speed dial. (Derek justifies this to the rest of the pack by saying that Stiles is usually the more useful of the lot. He also answers his phone on a regular basis. Most of the time.) When Stiles doesn't answer his phone after Derek trying to call him three times in a row, Derek knows deep down in his gut that something is wrong.

Instead of training, he rallies the troops.

"Erica, where are Isaac, Scott, and Stiles?" Derek asks her with the barest hint of a command coloring his tone.

Erica just shrugs. "No clue. They were in school today - I think. Never actually saw Stiles and Scott left somewhere around third period. Isaac probably went with him since they're best buddies now," she answers.

Erica's not jealous of Scott and Isaac's bromance (especially because she totally knows they're fucking, even if Derek refuses to acknowledge that fact. Something about it creeping him out to think of them together, whatever, she finds it hot). But she does get ticked off when she's left out of shit.

"Jackson. Any idea?" Derek turns his attention to his newest Beta next.

"Nope," Jackson replies, popping the 'p' in a way that he knows will piss Derek off. "Danny said something about Stilinski looking like death so I'm gonna go ahead and say he's dead." Jackson of all people should know better than to joke about Stiles being dead, especially considering that the last time he did, Derek put him through a plate glass window.  
He's sorely tempted to repeat the performance.

Stiles comes first.

Erica snorts in Jackson's general direction.

"He should have stayed home today. I could smell him in the halls. That's the only reason I knew he was even there."

"What did he smell like?" Derek asks Erica, the feeling in his gut turning into a solid block of lead. Alchemists of old would've been interested in the digestive structure of one Derek Hale.

"Huh? I'unno. Sick, I guess?"

Derek narrows his eyes and clenches his teeth together. "And you didn't mention this earlier because?"

Erica rolls her eyes - again - and Derek really reconsiders his life choices up til this point.

"Because I just did?"

Derek is shaking his head and grabbing his car keys before he can even process that he's gotten off the floor of the train depot. The three Betas (well, Boyd is just sort of watching them because he's Boyd and he's probably calling them all idiots in his head anyways) watch him go, two of them exasperated and one unsurprised.

Erica and Jackson are pissed that the plans they had for the evening were ruined. Boyd is just sort of wondering how they survived as long as they did as humans.

Derek doesn't bother calling them again. Instead he does what any good Alpha werewolf would do.

He follows his nose. It's undignified and sort of humiliating but he drives with his window open and his nose angled just so and he traces the smell of ScottandIsaacandpanic to the hospital.

Seriously?

Of all the places in Beacon Hills, they're at the hospital? Again? How often could they - nevermind.

"Derek? What're you doing here?" Of course those are the first five words out of Scott's mouth. Some stupid question.

"Looking for you three since none of you know how to use a _phone_," he intones, slightly angry.

Scott surprises Derek. Sort of. Instead of mouthing off or getting all pissy, he just sags in on himself. For a kid sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital he claims has the best food, Scott's looking pretty forlorn.

"Sorry. We kinda forgot about the meeting. We'll have to catch it next week or something," he mumbles into his lime Jello.

"Uh... No. We're going to catch it tonight. Like we planned. What are you guys even doing here, anyway? And where's Isaac and Stiles?" It's a rare sight that one of the trio should be bereft of the others.

"Dude... Do you seriously not know? Jackson or Erica didn't tell you?" Scott actually sounds surprised that the two people in the world who exist solely to make Derek's life miserable failed to tell him something.

Derek just stares at Scott with both of his eyebrows far up his forehead because if he knew, he clearly wouldn't be asking. Derek doesn't waste words.

"Stiles is upstairs. He's got pneumonia and it's bad enough for him to need a chest tube - something about an infection - and a breathing machine. They said his ribs were messed up and he couldn't breathe deep enough. He's gonna be in here a while. His dad had to go home cause they don't really have a good track record with hospitals so Isaac and I told him we'd stay with him. At least until the Sheriff is off work tomorrow."

Derek feels... Okay Derek feels like a total ass. Not only did he severely hurt Stiles, he kind of maybe caused his pneumonia. And then didn't check in with Stiles after the fact to make sure he was alright.

...Damn he sucks.

He doesn't expect that information to... Hurt him like it does. Not only does it make him feel the kind of guilt he's only ever felt once before in his life, but it actually really _hurts_. Like sympathy pain or some shit. He wants to go upstairs and bury his head in Stiles' neck and apologize over and over and over for being so stupid and so ignorant and for forgetting that he's a human when everyone else wouldn't have to worry and he was so fucking stupid.

"Take me upstairs," Derek orders, voice gruff.

Scott - wisely - says nothing about it.

Stiles looks so much more fragile than Derek could ever have imagined. He's got an I.V. in the back of his hand and a tube coming from an ugly looking bandage under his hospital gown that leads into a receptacle full of Derek doesn't want to think about it. He's pale and his face looks drawn and there's a tube - oh God - there's a tube down his throat.

Derek wants to cry. He wants to break down and sob because he worked so hard to save Stiles and now he already looks like he's dead even though the monitors and Derek's senses say otherwise and he should've taken the chance to make his move on Stiles when he had it but there was no time and he just really wants to have a chick moment, okay?

But he doesn't because there are two Betas in the room and he's an Alpha. He has to be strong - set a good example for his pack.

Like any good Alpha, Derek kicks Isaac out of his chair, makes the two of them go get some rest, and parks himself right at Stiles' bedside.

Derek isn't going anywhere.

He'll let Erica and Jackson figure out that he's not coming back on their own.

Boyd probably already knows.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time Stiles wakes up, he panics. There's something in his mouth he can't swallow around and usually that would make him grin like the Cheshire cat but this is not the time to be making penis jokes. It feels like someone's jammed something right into his lung and he has zero control over most of his body.

As soon as his heart rate starts climbing, something warm and solid is squeezing his hand and leaning over him.

Derek? Seriously? This has to be some sort of special brand of Hell concocted for Stiles and Stiles alone.

"Stiles, you have to calm down, okay? It'll be fine. You're in the hospital and you're sick but you'll be fine," Derek babbles and Stiles swears it's the longest sentence he's ever heard the dude say. The scary thing isn't Derek talking to him.

The scary thing is Derek_ actually calming him down_.

To the point of Stiles falling asleep again.

(Well, that was actually a heavy dose of medication, but hey.)

The next time he wakes up, Stiles is distinctly throat-tube free. He's still got I.V.s up the wazoo and there's still the feeling of having a pencil jammed between his third and fourth ribs. He's sore and exhausted and still pretty confused.

Stiles goes to bring his hands up to his face - to rub the unconsciousness from his eyes - but finds that not only one, but both of his hands are otherwise occupied.

He looks to the left and sees his father hunched over in a chair, hand loosely placed atop his only son's.

Stiles looks to the right and sees Derek Hale asleep with his head on the small sliver of available space between Stiles' thigh and the edge of the bed. Derek has his fingers twined with Stiles' and their hands are curled towards Derek's chest.

It's almost like Derek is trying to protect him.

Stiles is confused and warm and not entirely unhappy with this. Instead of waking them up, Stiles gives in to his exhaustion and falls back into darkness.

After leaning over to give Derek more of his hand, of course.

The last time Stiles wakes up, he's tube-free. Well... I.V.s not withstanding.

It's the first time he's been completely lucid since being flat-out on his ass in the school bathroom and it feels... It sucks. Hardcore.

Stiles feels a lot like he's been his by a car. He's sore and achy and his chest _hurts_. But he's alive, which is more than he was hoping to be when he couldn't coherently dial for help.

Breathing is easier than he last remembers it being. Where there had been pain and lots of uncomfortable shifting in his chest before, there's an achiness that's still pain but not agony. There's one spot that flares to life when he attempts to sit up and Stiles vaguely remembers the feeling of having a pencil or something stuck there.  
When he opens his eyes, the lights are blinding.

"Urgh... Could we dial down the high beams, please?" he mutters to himself. Or, at least, he thinks he's by himself. The instant the light is blocked out, however, he knows how wrong he was.

"Stiles... How are you feeling? Should I call a doctor in?" The face above him has little emotion written on it - in fact, it's expressionless. Despite the obvious concern in the voice.

Normally Derek would have slapped Stiles upside the head or slammed his head into something at this point. (What? He has street-cred to maintain and Stiles knows that his punishments for being stupid are always physical.)

"... Derek? Am I hallucinating or something?" Wow okay talking hurts too then, Stiles realizes as he winces ever so slightly.

Stiles' visage is the perfect picture of confusion and Derek's is... Amused? Maybe? Under the clear layer of stony indifference, that is.

"No. Your dad should be back soon. He went to make a phone call or something."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is literally all Stiles gets out of Derek. No 'hey I'm glad to see you' or 'hot damn it's good you're not dead'. Not even a 'son of a bitch how dare you nearly die!'. Weeeell fuck him, then. See what kind of gratitude he gets from Stiles and _whoa _where did _that_ image come from?!

Of course Derek is still watching him.

Derek, who looks both constipated and like he hasn't showered in a week.

"Right... So... Do you mind filling me in?" Stiles asks, giving Derek a pointed look that says 'I'm awake now and you need to use your words, you ape'. His voice is scratchy and uncomfortable, but he figures Derek can do most of the work this time.

Derek's nostrils flare and Stiles groans, already predicting the next words to come out of Derek's mouth.

"You're an idiot. Do you realize exactly how ridiculously stupid you are? You were sick for days, Stiles. Days. You didn't tell your dad, you didn't call Scott or Isaac or go to the doctor." Derek's eyebrows were dancing on his forehead, distracting Stiles from what he's sure is a meaningful rant.

"Dude, it's not-"

"It is a big deal, Stiles! It's a huge freakin' deal! You got pneumonia, broke a rib, refused to go to the hospital, and wound up needing a breathing tube. Let's not forget the chest tube they had to put in because it got so bad that an infection started to build up outside your lung. Congratulations, Stiles, you win honorable mention for a Darwin Award."

Stiles is... Completely speechless for once in his life. Not only is that the longest sentence he's ever heard Derek Hale say, but it confirms that Derek doesn't live in the dark ages. He actually knows what Darwin Awards are! That's not even including the fact that Derek was apparently scared shitless for Stiles which said teenager finds oddly touching and more than a little bit arousing.

Derek gives him this look of disbelief, probably able to smell exactly how Stiles is reacting to his little spiel of concern.

"I... Dude, you know what the Darwin Awards are?" Stiles can't wrap his head around that little piece of Derek Hale trivia.

"Out of the entire situation that I just laid out for you, all you got out of that is that I know what the Darwin Awards are? Are you kidding me?" Derek's back to his default pissy look which makes Stiles smile a bit. Always good to know that there is some sense of normalcy even in the face of adversity. Hey... He should quote that. Put it on a card or a coffee cup or something.

"Yes. Because you're clearly the mentally defect one if you didn't think I wouldn't know that you've been sleeping at my bedside for... Jesus, how long have I even been in here?"

Derek's face is impassive and just a little pissed off. "Eight days."

"So you've been sleeping at my bedside for eight days, with my arm curled towards you. You clearly haven't shaved, you kinda smell funky, and you've got bags like Macy's has never seen before under your eyes," Stiles says matter-of-factly. He can feel his already raw throat starting to shred slightly with the effort of speaking. Derek seems to understand what's happening as well because he leans forward and puts a hand over Stiles' mouth - much to his amusement.

Stiles - just to be Stiles and a pain in the ass - licks Derek's hand.

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't move his baseball glove of a hand.

"No. No more talking. Yes, I was here all eight days. Yes, I have not showered or shaved in those eight days. Yes, I'm going to kill you when you're out of this hospital bed. No, you're not allowed to ask any more questions or make anymore comments. Understand?"

Stiles nods, mouth twitching into a smile when he notices that Derek Hale is actually blushing mildly. Which, when he thinks about it, is kind of hilarious considering he's blushing because of Stiles. (Secretly Stiles thinks Derek may have sustained a nasty concussion if that's his reaction.)

Derek just sort of glares menacingly - as usual - and slides his hand off of Stiles' face. Before Derek can retreat completely, Stiles grabs him by the jacket and pulls him forward. (Later he'll argue it was so that he didn't have to talk too loudly.)

"Thanks, Derek."

Derek just rolls his eyes, blushes a bright pink, and kisses Stiles' nose. Stiles squeaks and before he can say _anything_, Derek is out of the hospital room like Peter Hale is on his tail again. (Which is a really funny Benny Hill-ish vision in his head, when he stops to think about it.)

Stiles is left sputtering after Derek Hale, unsure of whether to be angry or aroused (well he can't avoid that one) when his father comes in.

"Stiles? Something you want to tell me? Also, you're grounded for the next week for not saying anything to me. Having Scott call me? Really, son? By the way, when did he and the Lahey kid start going out? Since when is Scott gay for that matter?" Sheriff Stilinski looks confused, tired, and just a touch angry. Stiles can unders - Wait... Scott and Isaac WHAT?!

Stiles groans and buries his head under the covers, pleading illness instead of the right to remain silent. It works just as well and he finds he has to say just as little.

Plus, he gets free Jello and a visit from Derek at least twice a day.

Life is good.


End file.
